


A Great Heart, As Well As Of A Great Brain

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 'I should know my Watson by now' oh come on ACD, Also H & W love Mama Hudson, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Doting Sherlock, Fluff, Holmes and Watson are so in love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Story: The Adventure of the Three Garridebs, there's so many fics about John showering Sherlock with affection why not the other way around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Garridebs. Holmes was so worried about losing his Boswell, and makes it clear how glad he is that Watson's leg wound was merely superficial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Great Heart, As Well As Of A Great Brain

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, un-Britpicked, probably not even historically accurate...oh well. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Our friend Inspector Lestrade took Killer Evans into custody, and as soon as we were nestled safely back at Baker Street, Holmes was upon me, fussing like a harried old nursemaid. "My dear fellow, are you in pain? Shall I have Mrs. Hudson send up some tea?"

"The bullet barely grazed my skin," I chuckled warmly, holding up my hand to calm my old friend. "I promise you, Holmes, I am perfectly alright."

"Alright, Watson," said Holmes, straightening. "I believe you. Still, the fact remains that you were injured. I'll tell you what, you relax in your armchair and I'll run you a nice hot bath."

"Couldn't very well say no to that," I smiled. "I thank you."

"Think nothing of it, my dear friend." Holmes touched my shoulder - a simple, but satisfactory sign of his affection. For only in our private chambers can we risk revealing the true nature of our relationship, not even daring to use our Christian names until we were more than completely sure that we were isolated.

I settled in my chair and pulled a pouf forward to prop my leg on - for while I had not lied to Holmes about being fine, the nick on the side of my thigh was stinging a touch.

"Woo-oo! Doctor Watson?" called the familiar voice of our beloved landlady, letting herself in as I bid her and carrying a tray of dinner, warm thick stew and freshly baked bread, which she set upon my lap. "Mister Holmes told me you'd been injured," fretted Mrs. Hudson, biting her lip at me.

"Holmes exaggerates," I said, patting her hand like the son she'd never had. "A mere scratch on the side of my leg, that's all."

"It could've been a great deal more," said Holmes, reentering our living space. He had shed his outer things and slipped into his handsome silk dressing gown. He clapped a hand on the corner of the back of my chair. "Our good doctor was very brave."

I laughed. "And you accuse me of over-romanticizing our adventures, old chap!"

"Oh, you boys," chuckled Mrs. Hudson fondly. "You eat up now, that stew won't stay hot all night. And I expect a clean-licked bowl, Mr. Holmes!" she scolded playfully as she headed toward the door.

"Who am I to argue with you, dear Mrs. Hudson?" said Holmes warmly as he took his seat across from me. "Oh, and see to it that we are not disturbed again tonight. Watson needs rest."

"For God's sake, Holmes," I said, rolling my eyes as Mrs. Hudson left. "I tell you again, it was only a scratch."

"I know that, old friend, but I am reminded that I could have very well...lost you."

Again, that cold mask had slipped and I saw true sorrow in my dearest friend's eyes. I leaned forward and laid my hand atop his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But you did not," I reminded him kindly.

Holmes looked up at me. The light of the fire to our left reflected in his sharp grey eyes. "I suppose I always believed I could protect you from danger, Watson. But I am not superhuman as I delude myself to be, as your accounts build me up to be. You are as mortal as any man, and while you are my companion, you are constantly in danger."

"My dear Holmes, I am perfectly aware of the risk I run cavorting with you, and it is my _pleasure_ to put my life on the line. Not only to keep you company, but for the good of society as well. It isn't as if I haven't been in that position before," I added, fondly patting my shoulder where the bullet that had led me to my best friend and the love of my life had pierced my flesh in Afghanistan, the bullet that I thanked God above for every night in my prayers. As I said before: it would be worth many wounds to have Sherlock Holmes in my life.

Holmes slowly smiled. "I suppose you are right on that account, Watson. Forgive me for my foolish sentiment."

"I will not. Your sentiment is one of the things I love most about you, and it is most certainly not foolish."

Holmes grinned at my declaration. "We should eat. It would be a shame if Mrs. Hudson's lovely meal went to waste, and besides, you've a bath awaiting you that's growing cooler every moment."

"Then let's not waste not any time." I dipped my spoon into Holmes's bowl and brought it to his lips. "Open."

"Watson, I am not a child," Holmes complained, rolling his eyes. But he opened his mouth nonetheless, extending a long, slender tongue and licking the stew from the silverware in a decidedly not innocent manner, never breaking eye contact with me.

I felt the breath leave my lungs. "Good gracious," I whispered.

Holmes winked at me, and served me a spoonful in kind. We sat there feeding each other until our bowls were empty, and all that was left of Mrs. Hudson's dinner rolls were crumbs. Holmes took the tray from my lap and set it aside, then took my hand and led me to the lavatory.

I undressed and soaked in the warm water till my skin was wrinkled, Holmes washing my hair with the greatest reverence. I could not remember the last time I had felt so pampered. After I had gotten out of the tub, Holmes dressed my wound ("I know it is only a scratch, John, but I'll not risk having you bleed all over our sheets, thank you very much") and led me to bed.

He coaxed me onto my back, covering my body with his and bringing our mouths together in a deep kiss, my moustache rubbing against the soft skin of his face. I sighed immediately, parting my lips for my beloved Sherlock. Usually the detective was not so possessive, but tonight I allowed him to take what he would and plunder my mouth with abandon. His long nimble fingers were cradling my head, combing through my damp hair, and my hands were running circuits over the slope of his back and up and down his sides to his bony hips.

Sherlock pulled away, his upper lip slightly pink from the bristle of my facial hair. "What would you like, John? You can have anything, anything, dear friend."

"I just want you," I said amazedly, my friend and lover having slightly taken my breath away.

Sherlock smiled. "That you have. You _always_ have that, John." He bore close again and pressed our lips back together.

My hands clutched his upper arms through his shirtsleeves as he kissed me, him having taken off his fine dressing gown during my bath. I thought it unfair that I should be naked and that his gorgeous body be covered up. "Please take off your clothes, Sherlock," I whispered into his mouth.

"Of course." Sherlock climbed off and sat on the edge of the bed and took off his house shoes, the ones I'd given him for Christmas last year, and his socks.

"Please," I said again, my fingers encircling his slender wrist. "Let me see you."

Sherlock smiled knowingly. "Certainly," he nodded. He rose and stood barefoot on the floor, his whole form displayed before me.

I involuntarily licked my lips.

First removed was the necktie and staunchly starched high collar, exposing that beautiful long white column of neck. Then he ever so slowly unbuttoned his shirt, letting me barely glimpse the peek of his bird thin chest before it disappeared under his vest.

I cursed the fact that we must wear so many layers!

Sherlock untucked the shirt from his trousers and hung it over the back of a wooden chair by the window. He slowly unbuckled his belt and unlooped it from his thin waist. The belt joined the collar and necktie on the vanity.

My breathing was quickening.

Sherlock was watching me, observing my anticipation. "Patience, John..." he cooed with a smirk.

I fought the urge to whine.

After what seemed like ages, Sherlock undid the button of his trousers and let them pool at his ankles. He must have deduced my suffering, because with a laugh, he took pity on me and rid himself of the vest and pants quickly. Words can not express how beautiful a naked Sherlock Holmes is.

Sherlock wasted no time straddling me once more, and I gladly pulled him as physically close as science would allow. We kissed each other breathless, our pricks filling and occasionally brushing, causing us to groan into each other's mouths as sparks of pleasure flashed through us. I would have been perfectly happy to finish like that, holding Sherlock against me, our arousals rubbing against each other and bringing each other to climax, but apparently my consulting detective had other ideas.

"John," gasped Sherlock in between kisses. "John...I want to please you. Let me, please?"

"Oh, Sherlock," I sighed as the world's greatest detective began nuzzling my neck. I am certainly not as sensitive as certain bohemian logicians I could name, but my love has a way with his mouth and ah, _ah_ , his tongue. It only makes sense that an orifice that can deduce a person's entire life story and deepest, darkest secrets in rapid fire could also reduce one hardened veteran to a groaning mass of pleasured nerves with ease.

Sherlock fluttered about, like a bee flitting from flower to flower, laying kisses to my neck and ears and jaw and cheeks and breastbones. I felt absolutely lavished with affection. I laughed, the sound coming out low and husky. "If this is what happens when I score a minor scrape, perhaps on our next case I shall trip on the cobblestones and break my leg."

"You shall do no such thing!" Sherlock scolded me sharply, regarding me with wide grey eyes.

"A jest, my dear, only a jest," I chuckled, stroking his cheek. "Please, don't stop."

Sherlock's gaze softened, forgiving me my little joke. Until this night, I'd had no idea the ferocity of Sherlock's protectiveness of me. I knew, of course, that he loved me, but that he _cared_ so strongly...and again, I asked God what I had done to deserve so deeply and perfect a love as the one I shared with Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock had resumed covering my entire transport in kisses, though now they were migrating further and further south to my straining manhood. He licked and sucked my nipples, and I made an audible "ahh". He clutched the sides of my paunchy stomach and nuzzled the sides of it like Mycroft Holmes savoring a plum pudding. His tongue flicked over my belly button, then he kissed a trail down, down, down...

"Oh, dear God," I moaned as I felt wet heat, so so good, envelope the head of my cock, Sherlock's clever tongue swirling over the slit, lapping up the pre-ejaculate. Then his lips slid slowly down my shaft, and I had to physically force myself not to thrust upward into Sherlock's mouth. A lusty haze was fogging over my higher brain functions, and I felt myself coming undone. God help me, Sherlock Holmes really would be the death of me someday - but not in the way he thought.

I choked as Sherlock's vocal chords vibrated around my cock as he moaned. I wasn't able to look, my eyes glued shut in ecstasy, but from the shifting our four-poster bed was making, I could guess Sherlock was rutting against the mattress while sucking me off - God almighty...

My cock was entirely engulfed in Sherlock's throat by now, his head bobbing slowly up and down. "Christ, Sherlock," I gasped, my fists clenching the bedsheets. Heat was pooling in my groin, he was too good, entirely too good, I wasn't going to last long...

Sherlock pulled up, tonguing the sensitive head, making me cry out, lightning dancing up and down my spine. "Hush, John, we don't want to wake Mrs. Hudson, do we?" I could hear the self-satisfied smirk in Sherlock's voice, and damn him if it didn't make me all the more aroused. The flat of Sherlock's tongue ran up the underside of my length, then he was swallowing me down once more.

"Oh, God, Sherlock, my love, you're going to kill me," I groaned.

I heard his lips pop off of my cock with an innocent and filthy little sound, like someone sucking noisily on a lollipop. "Put your hands in my hair," my love instructed.

My fingers fisted obediently in his curls, coming loose from their stern, oily hold. I was vaguely aware my hips were rocking gently in rhythm with Sherlock's movement up and down my length. The bed was wobbling more and more frantically as Sherlock rubbed himself off with more excitement. My testicles were drawing up tighter and tighter, my crisis was close at hand...

"Sherlock, I'm about to finish, my darling, do you want to-"

Sherlock made a disapproving noise, sucking me in even farther. I looked down at the head of unruly, dark brown curls between my legs and that was it, there was a burst of heat and pressure inside me and I was spilling into him, my back arched and my pelvis stuttering, Sherlock swallowing waves after waves of my evidence. He kept his mouth upon me throughout the after effects, drawing undignified whimpers from me, my body limp and occasionally convulsing, overcome with pleasure. Finally, I was wilting and Sherlock pulled off of me, gasping for air.

"Sherlock, my love, my perfect love, you beautiful creature," I babbled, pulling him up and holding him in my arms and kissing him over and over. His mouth and tongue were laced with my essence. "Oh...oh, Sherlock, you wonderful, amazing, perfect thing...let me do something for you," I pled, reaching for him, but Sherlock stopped me, grasping my hand.

"I'm afraid it is too late for that," he admitted, a lovely blush coloring his sharp cheekbones. I was puzzled, till I looked down and realized he was soft, head dripping. I looked down the bed and saw that there was an impressive wet spot between my knees.

My God...Sherlock had come completely untouched.

My prick made a valiant little twitch at that. Sherlock laughed shyly, and I, utterly enchanted with him all over again, kissed him soundly once more, stroking his wild curls and murmuring sweet nothings in his ear.

"My wonderful Sherlock. You fantastic man," I purred, showering him with kisses. "How did I ever get so lucky?" Then I pulled back, laughing. "And you were worried about getting a little blood on the sheets!"

Sherlock sniffed, pouting. "Blood stains, John. _That_ is easily remedied."

"Mmm," I said, kissing just behind his earlobe. "Perhaps we ought to do our own laundry this month. Otherwise Mrs. Hudson might start asking some uncomfortable questions."

"I'm surprised she doesn't already suspect," Sherlock postulated. "What with the way you were grunting like an animal."

" _I'm_ animalistic? My God, I'm not the one that was rutting against the mattress like a bitch in heat!" I teased.

Sherlock flushed absolutely scarlet, and I had to laugh at my poor love. Then Sherlock began laughing too. He allowed me to pull him back into my arms, and I stroked his curls back from his temple until I could no longer keep my eyelids open.

"Go to sleep, John," said Sherlock softly. "It has been a long day."

Who was I to argue? I sighed and nestled deeper into the pillows, murmuring, "I love you" to him. The last thing I recall seeing was his grey eyes, gazing back at me, glowing with the great love that we shared.


End file.
